


Devoured whole

by StormXPadme



Series: "Tales Untold" & "Tales Beyond": (Don't) Need-to-know [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eating Disorders, Hithlum, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Russingon, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: After Angband, Maitimo is in a complicated relationship with food. Findekáno does his best to help.***While this oneshot is part of my main verse, it's not necessary to know any of the other parts to understand it.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: "Tales Untold" & "Tales Beyond": (Don't) Need-to-know [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125545
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	Devoured whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArvenaPeredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/gifts).



> This story came to be after a discussion about Findekáno's breakfast habits in a discord channel. Without the wonderful headcanons of ArvenaPeredhel, Mighty moo and Maicanduinë, this would never have come into existence, so thank you guys for that. Besides, much of my Russingon descriptions come from ArvenaPeredhel's excellent Russingon stories, so check her stories out like now. I'm still an infant about everything Silmarillion, so I hope I didn't fuck it up too badly.

If there is one mission haunting Findekáno through more than one Age of this life, it is making sure, his husband is well fed.

Some would argue that a very much grown-up elf like Maitimo, easily towering most people Findekáno ever met at that, is perfectly capable of managing his own food supply. Then again, neither of these people has ever had to discuss the nutritional content of ice cubes, or why hastily guzzling down a bowl of porridge in the pig stables is not awfully sanitary.

One could also argue that Maitimo has never been much of a hedonist. The oldest of seven, Fëanáro's son has spent most of his childhood mornings making sure, his siblings weren't stabbing someone's eye out with a butter knife or burn their hair off in the oven. Not many chances for enjoying a multi-course menu, admittedly.

Later though, before everything went terrible, at more than one feast at one of their courts, the two of them wagered who could inhale the biggest part of the buffet, and that always was a lot of fun. Contrary to popular opinion, that Findekáno is smaller by two heads than his husband and half his size, doesn't mean he's not constantly hungry. Still, he has not made it even once to come out of these little contests on top back then.

One whole suckling pig and a gallon of wine later, they usually didn't even make it to the end of whatever was being celebrated that day before ending up in some remote corner, to enjoy as many minutes alone as they could afford without making anyone suspicious. And without becoming tempted to enter a deeper kind of bond than they were ready for at that time.

Sometimes it's been frustrating; but when Findekáno allows himself to think back of these evenings, in lonely nights, when they are the warmest thing to hold onto in this drafty, half-finished excuse of a palace, he doesn't see regret.

He sees the flame of Maitimo's hair in half-lit storerooms as his lover pushes him back into some wine rack and ravages his mouth, more hungry for him than for any deliciousness on the tables outside. He sees the glint of youthful excitement in his beautiful bright eyes as they explore each other's bodies, clumsily, only as much as thin robes or way too tight gala breeches would allow. Findekáno remembers the sweet salt on his tongue when he bit down on his lover's snow-white neck, so tightly that Maitimo had to keep his hair down for the rest of the night, and how he came into his own pants so hard, he nearly fainted.

Clearer than anything, though, he remembers laying on the roof of the festival hall and staring into the night sky, wondering which of those stars would one day shine in their favor. He remembers the mock-irritated tone in Maitimo's voice as his lover tried to explain every single one of them to him, yet Findekáno was far more interested in how many pearls stolen from his own jacket he could get away with to braid into Maitimo's hair.

It's not a time he wants to see smudged in his own mind, because they never have been that free ever again.

Still, sometimes, Findekáno thinks, it might have been a mistake that they never went a step further when they still could. Sometimes he wonders how it would have been, making it official before the world went dark and there was nothing keeping their families together but blood, revenge and death, instead of doing it on the run and in secret then. Sometimes he thinks, it would have made things easier. Might even have saved a few lives on both sides.

More likely though, the fallout on water and ice might have turned out even worse. Their marriage bond might have burned to ashes on one of those ships, instead of only being torn to shreds for a while, when Maitimo has been taken from him for many years of anger, loneliness and suffering, and most of them not by either his or his husband's choice.

When Findekáno brings back the ruins of his husband's body from Thangorodrim, starved to the bone and malnourished to the point of decay, splendid festivals and a decadent variety of pleasures have long been nothing but a melancholic memory. So putting some meat back on Maitimo's bones turns out to be one of the hardest parts of his recovery. In their makeshift new dwelling, they can deal only with what they harvest, breed and grow, and that isn't much in this kind of environment. The lack of sufficiently diverse nutrition is additional poison for someone who is no longer used to anything remotely close to food consumption, neither in body nor in mind.

Findekáno really can't blame Maitimo that he never really recovers from that.

When the healers finally greenlight the first of solid food for him, after months of nothing but broth, Maitimo actually seems to be honestly relieved, but that anticipation is short lived. For the next few weeks, he's doing nothing but throwing up until his body remembers that it does, in fact, have a stomach and the withered organ starts to recover. What Maitimo doesn't bring back up, leaves him with cramps so bad, Findekáno has to hold him down on the mattress a few times because he's writhing so hard that he rips open his stitches.

Bedpan business isn't exactly fun at these times either, and though Findekáno never bats a lid when he helps his husband out, the shame and discomfort is an increasing additional burden for the shattered mess that is Maitimo's soul.

No … it is not exactly surprising that food isn’t on Maitimo's top priority list, even as he slowly gets better.

Unfortunately, it _needs_ to be. The healers keep on warning them both about it. Maitimo to be reasonable, Findekáno to be more stubborn than he can bring himself to so far.

While at least Maitimo isn't bleeding from a dozen places inside and outside anymore, with all fractures set, bones hardening by the day, and most of his organs working the way they should again, he'll never be back on his feet if he doesn’t start eating more and regularly. His body is on its absolute limits. Thanks to ongoing rehabilitation and increasingly longer walking sessions, its burning far more than Maitimo takes in; his healing factor is still incredibly low, the last of wounds keep on breaking open. Nothing will change about any of that if he doesn’t get himself together and stops leaving half of his meals untouched on his bedside table until they start to rot and someone's finally forced to take them away.

So Findekáno presses. He's not even leaving the room when his father calls for him, and Maitimo has too much respect for Fingolfin for taking him in and nursing him back to health in spite of his betrayal, to risk angering him.

He urges. He's not taking his eyes off Maitimo's plate until he at least finishes a few spoonfuls of mash and empties all of that juice to boost up his vitamin count.

Sometimes he threatens. Maitimo still needs a lot of sleep and can't get any when Findekáno alerts the healers that he's conveniently forgotten the chicken stew bowl on his lunch tray once more.

When he sees no other way, he straight out blackmails. Since they started sleeping with each other again, it's obviously the bigger punishment for him, withholding his hands or mouth from his lover's body, but Maitimo craves his touch just as much, to forget the violence done to him by others. So he always gives in sooner or later.

Findekáno feels like an absolute asshole doing any of that, but eventually it starts to work.

By the time, the wars and the killing begin anew, not only do most of their people finally know about them (and it's been the easier fight, shockingly). His husband has also forced his body back to full health and his left arm to learn what has been the job of the missing right hand before. Things are finally as close to being alright as they can be.

They lose friends and loved ones once more, and one of those tragedies leaves Findekáno with a crown he never wanted, but at least this time, he's not alone. Maitimo and him, they meet as often as their residencies on the opposite sides of desolation allow, and when they do, they are making the best of it. In these precious, way too rare, way too short weeks, Angband is far away.

They have better crop and stock at this point, and Findekáno now is King, so he allows himself as much decadence coming with the title as he can live with, without feeling like he's neglecting his folk. Today, feasts are a very personal, intimate matter. Maitimo and him can steal away to make out whenever they want and there's nothing much to celebrate.

The biggest difference though is that Findekáno is mostly responsible for emptying the buffet by himself.

The ice hasn't exactly lessened his appetite, on the contrary, and Maitimo isn't quite used to it yet. The first few times when he witnesses the demise of a roast chicken to the bone only as a first course, he just _stares_.

" _How_?"

Findekáno shrugs and points sharply at the single wing and a few pitiful fruits on his husband's plate until Maitimo at least starts nibbling on them.

"Seriously, Finno. Where do you even _put_ all this stuff?"

Findekáno has his mouth too full for an answer – the chickens have really improved greatly thanks to this year's good harvest – but risks a quick glance down his body to make sure, he's not fallen out of shape by accident. But … no. Leading his own realm most hours a day and pining for his star-crossed lover the rest of the minutes is exhausting enough still, even with Maitimo being far too seldom around to fuck a little too much gluttony out of him.

At that thought, unfortunately, he blushes, which apparently is a cue for Maitimo to neglect his food already. Findekáno's, he pushes aside as well before he sits him down on the table instead, rips his pants open and pampers his stomach and groin with kisses and licks until he's steel-hard. Findekáno can't help but wish, his husband would devour at least any kind of food with as much enthusiasm as he swallows his cock whole, but he's weak and needy after months of abstinence, and he forgets to complain.

He fully intends to make up for his failure, but when he wakes up, still completely fucked out and more than a little bit sore, Maitimo has already left for the stables. Findekáno tries not to mind – Alagas does better as his husband's therapist than every healer who has ever tried to get him to talk about his various traumas –, but he glares as Maitimo finally comes back, and wordlessly points at the huge table his servants have set up.

"Already ate." Maitimo rolls his eyes when Findekáno opens his mouth to object, and raises his maimed arm in a gesture of a vow that has Findekáno wince. They all got a little touchy on _that_ subject. "Check the pantry."

Findekáno does, just to be a pain, and comes back with his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. "Russo, do I want to know where the rest of that cheese roll is?"

"You told me to eat. Make up your mind." Maitimo helps himself with some cacao before heading for the bathroom.

That's at least _some_ nutrition, so Findekáno doesn't complain, but he's not ready to let the subject rest just yet. "You didn't seriously just eat a whole cheese roll instead of a proper breakfast!"

"It's food, and I can eat it on the go, which saves a lot of time. I don't see any disadvantage. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to scrub off the stable. You're of course invited to join me if you're done ranting about food." Maitimo drops his half-open tunic somewhere on the way to the adjacent room without even looking back.

This time, Findekáno doesn't relent. "Forget it. I can still feel you in places I didn't know I _had_. And unlike you, I have some sense for a balanced diet."

"I've been thinking, you could balance me on your _gwib_ instead for the next hour as we bathe, but don't let me keep you from your scones."

Maitimo doesn't quite make it to close the door behind him before Findekáno pushes him back against the next available wall and shoves his hand down his pants.

That morning gives him an idea, fortunately. Next time he manages to get Maitimo to sit down for a meal – it takes him three more days –, he just sits down on top of him, his own plate in his hand.

Maitimo looks at him pointedly, obviously trying to figure out what it is, he is up to now and why it involves so many clothes. "You know, there's more than one chair in this room."

"I find this one to be much more comfortable."

Findekáno starts to dig in, because giving therapy to his husband is not a reason to let a perfectly fine meat from the hunt with a most delicious berry dip go to waste, thank you very much.

Realizing that Findekáno won't be going anywhere before Maitimo gives in, his husband obeys, cursing under his breath. But something about the way Findekáno is moaning with honest pleasure at the first few bites, with his eyes firmly closed, seems to be motivating his husband, Findekáno notices, relieved.

It's been the right instinct then. Findekáno makes it a show on purpose now, slurping just a little too loudly, licking his fork after every piece, very satisfied with the way, Maitimo works on his own helping without even realizing it, his eyes firmly fixed on him. Finally, Findekáno removes the last of sauce off the plate with the tip of his tongue in a whole un-kingly manner, that's how good it is.

By that time, Maitimo has nearly finished as well, so Findekáno allows it, with a quiet, turned on laugh, when his husband licks off the sauce he's spilled from his chin and lips and then sweeps him up in his arms to carry him to the bedroom.

If this is what it takes to get Maitimo to eat like a normal person, he thinks he can deal with it just fine.

Breakfast remains to be an issue though. While they can always agree on a good piece of meat and some well-boiled side dishes for dinner, Findekáno is no longer willing to accept his husband getting through the day on nothing but a dust-covered peace of fermented milk.

Since in spite of all eager learning attempts, Findekáno still sucks at cooking, he is once more very thankful for the small army of servants he has at hand these days. From now on, the day for his cooking staff begins long before sunrise, so two more rows of tables added to Maitimo's and his dining room can be filled to the brim before they enter.

The first time, Maitimo stops so abruptly in his tracks that Findekáno, still caught in his post-deep sleep-coma, nearly runs into him. For the look on Maitimo's face alone, it's been worth it, putting up with his servants cursing Findekáno in three languages at once and probably drawing sticks at that point to determine who has to be on breakfast duties for the foreseeable future.

"How many people have you invited to eat?" A little pale around his nose, Maitimo turns to him. Probably he's seriously afraid, Findekáno will try and make him empty all of these three dozen plates.

Findekáno just smiles and motions him to sit down before getting the first of eight different variations of eggs for him. "One fork of everything, that's all I'm asking. I'll take care of the rest."

"If you want to go through with that, we will have to spar all day or I'll have to roll you into the next battle," Maitimo grunts, still visibly confused. "I appreciate the notion, mîl, but this is completely unnecessary. I can eat anything."

Including nails, poison and acid when the alternative is death and having his soul trapped eternally in a place of everlasting darkness, as they both know.

Findekáno is _done_ watching his husband putting up with the bare minimum of comfort and pleasure, just because some sour-faced fallen higher being made it a sport, drilling it into him that it is what he deserves.

"I know. That's why I want you to find out what you like. Just for your information, this is only part one. Tomorrow we'll continue with bread."

"Great idea. Get the other part of your household staff to hate me too. No big deal. I'll just start sleeping in my armor again." But Maitimo smiles a little when he says it, and his cheeks are flushed, and it's probably the most endearing thing Findekáno has seen all week.

That something as perverse as "only the egg white with a hint of dill" turns out to be his favorite should have been Findekáno's first clue that he is about to create a demon though.

About two weeks later, their breakfast table is made up of baked beans and boiled sausages, with a side dish of cheese-filled scones. It's hard for Findekáno not to feel nauseous at the smell of so much fat and oil at this time of the day, but for the sake of his husband finally no longer starting his day on a lack of nutrition, he puts up with it.

When Maitimo's visit draws to an end, he is annoyed to find that his husband starts to lack again, trying to avoid getting up at the same time he does, by claiming he feels too tired, or seducing Findekáno right in the doorway, with the dinner sitting on the table untouched. While Findekáno is perfectly aware that healing is a process that takes time and that he'll have to deal with a lot of setbacks like this, he's not ready to let his husband go back to his own realm before driving a certain lesson home once more.

Which is why, inspired by the success of that one evening spent in his husband's lap, for their last morning together, Findekáno thinks of something very special. When everything is set up and he's sent the last of servants outside, he waits in his slightly compromised position on the table with his heart beating heavily in his chest, praying that no one else will come see him this morning of all days. It's not like his staff doesn't _expect_ Maitimo and him fucking all over the place at this point, but being the High King and all comes with at least a basic amount of etiquette and decency.

Findekáno has a vague feeling, lounging naked on his own breakfast table isn't exactly included in that etiquette.

His heart sinks for a moment when the door opens before he hears from the typical dragged slide of the handle that it's being moved by an arm that ends too soon. He lays back again, trying to present his unclothed body as tastefully as possible and to not start fidgeting in the following stunned silence.

"I swear, if you're telling me again, you've already eaten, I will smother you with a sweet roll."

"I might find some room in my stomach left." To his relief, in spite of audible amusement, Maitimo's deep voice carries a clear note of rough arousal as well.

In his defense, his husband gets the idea of some of his favorite breakfast dishes being arranged all over Findekáno's body and does his best trying to play along, in spite of the visible bulge tenting the front of his pants when he steps closer. For a whole of five minutes, he bravely plays along.

When Findekáno starts writhing and panting more and more though, every time, his husband's clever tongue licks off cream or juice from his skin, pausing on the hard-pebbled skin of his nipples for decidedly too long, none of their composure holds up any longer.

Findekáno is pulled to the edge of the table, unceremonial, a hot mouth engulfs his half-hard cock, quickly removing every trace of butter still left there, while impatient long fingers, coated in probably whatever more or less smooth substance was nearest, rub between his legs. Food has never been as unimportant in his life.

It isn't until Maitimo is balls-deep in him and they both feel a lot more heated during their coupling than usual that they remember, not everything is meant to serve as lube, especially not everything on a breakfast table. They're too horny and desperate to care at that point, but they keep a list with things not to use after that day.

Somehow, they make it back to bed afterwards, wincing and hobbling, to enjoy the last minutes of silence before their farewell. Maitimo has his good arm around him, and Findekáno has his head on his belly, pleased to hear no protesting grumbling there for once, and things are well.

"I love you, you know," he finally murmurs, without turning his head to Maitimo, because the good-bye is drawing close and he doesn’t want to ruin their cuddling by revealing the glistening in his eyes. "I know I don't get around to say that as often as I should."

Maitimo buries his hand in the mess that was once a neat set of braids, coaxing him to look his way. That expression of pure content, bordering just that close enough on peace, only brings more tears to Findekáno's eyes. Some of the sort that don't hurt. In spite of that finally healed over scar nearly splitting his face in half and his glorious hair still worn so much shorter than when they had both been young and untainted, Maitimo hasn't ever been more beautiful.

"If a thousand moons passed without you saying it, I would still never forget, mîl."

Findekáno believes him.

While perfect might always be sold out, they can do with being happy just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> * gwib = cock  
> * mîl = love


End file.
